


(baby) we can make it if we're heart to heart

by Cassieblanca



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fluff, Gay Richie Tozier, Hospitals, Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassieblanca/pseuds/Cassieblanca
Summary: After nearly losing Eddie for good, Richie finds himself thinking about all the things he wishes he could say out loud.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a one shot but it ran away from me oops lol this isn't beta'd so forgive me for any errors. 
> 
> I'll upload chapter two next week. 
> 
> twitter: @_Cassieblanca_ for general fan stuff/fic things or for art stuff @__Cassienova__

He doesn’t remember anything but the fear and bone shaking panic. 

That may be a lie, actually, but those are the things that are raw in his mind, in his body. One minute he’s facing off with a deadly clown-spider-thing and the next he felt like his soul was leaving his body. Richie isn’t fully aware of how long he was suspended in time due to the deadlights--if you asked him, he’d say it felt like years and seconds all at once, like when you lean too far back in a chair and feel the rush as you almost crash down, but not quite. Stuck in a moment for eternity and yet it ends as soon as it began.  
  
That’s not really where the fear comes from though. 

There was a moment of blurriness where Richie started to get his bearings when he was out of the grasp of the deadlights, looking up at Eddie, who was leaning over him, grinning wide about how, “I did it Richie! I think I killed It!”  
  
In the back of his mind he recalled when Ben kissed Beverly when they were kids and a small part of him wondered and hoped Eddie had done that for him.  
  
Then there was blood.  
  
And Richie really did feel his soul leave his body. 

Richie was stunned when Eddie was pulled away from him, being treated like a puppet as It’s maniacal laugh filled the cave before It discarded Eddie without care. Richie was the first up and at his side, quick to take his shirt off to press it against the serious wound in his chest. There was talking, but Richie can’t really remember the details.  
  
He stayed with Eddie for as long as he could, not wanting to leave him alone for a second.  
  
Eddie was on death's doorstep--and his chosen last words were ‘I fucked your mother’, the goddamn son of bitch-- and Richie refused with his body and soul to leave him behind. If taking Eddie out of this hell hole meant Richie risked getting them both killed, then so be it.  
  
He doesn’t remember a whole lot of escaping either, just the rushed and prickly panic his body felt when he and Ben worked to carry Eddie out of the crumbling house. All he knows is they made it and Eddie was still breathing, even if it was only barely. They managed to get to a hospital with Beverely driving and breaking every traffic law in the book, bless her fucking heart. Once they arrived, Eddie was quickly taken away from Richie, who had made it his job to cradle Eddie, keep the shirt pressed against his wound and talk to him-- keep him awake, keep him alive, god please be alive. 

Richie wasn’t allowed past the lobby when they took him, and the rest of the night is a blur of anxiety and exhaustion. It hit Richie later then it did the others that they killed the goddamn clown once and for all, but he didn’t feel compelled to celebrate until he knew Eddie was okay. Call him selfish, but Richie just can’t feel happy about killing It if it means losing Eddie in the process.  
  
He broke down from the stress of it all, hurt, anger and worry overwhelming him to the point of tears. As embarrassing as it was, he can at least admit that it felt nice getting a group hug from his fellow losers, who were also on the edge of their seats, waiting for news about their friend.  
  
When the doctor came out and told them he was stable, but unconscious, Richie cried again. 

He was alive. He was alive, alive, _alive_ and that’s all that mattered.  
  
They didn’t really know how long he would be unconscious--probably for a while, the poor guy had a hole in his chest, which was questioned by the doctors only for the group to give mixed, unrehearsed answers.  
  
Richie was the first one in Eddie’s room, and his heart broke into pieces when he saw him in the bed, looking smaller than Richie’s ever seen him, with bandages all around his chest, tubes up his nose and in his arms--He looked so fragile and pale and Richie found himself back to square one with how fucking freaked out he was. Stable, he recalled, doesn’t always mean you get better. It just means you aren’t getting worse, and Eddie has a hole in his chest and Richie can only hope and pray to every God he doesn’t believe in that Eddie gets better. It was hard to have faith when he looked no closer to life then he did in the cave.  
  
Richie stayed at his side. He had no plans to leave Eddie unless the doctors and nurses actively kicked him out. The others stayed as well, but Richie was there from morning till night--He’d stay over night if the hospital wasn’t so strict about their visiting hours, and Richie had considered hiding in a room to try and sneak back in. Bill managed to convince him that Eddie would be okay overnight, but Richie couldn’t help but feel cold fear at the thought of leaving him because what if something happened to him when Richie isn’t at his side? 

It may be an irrational fear but considering all the bullshit they’ve gone through, Richie won’t take criticism on his concerns. And so, the second visiting hours started, Richie was in the room with Eddie, holding his hand, brushing his hair off his face--he tried cleaning him up, at least a little bit, because he knows that if Eddie were awake he would hate it if he just laid here, old dirt under his fingernails and hospital germs crawling on his skin. The nurses quickly grew annoyed with Richie because of how often he called them to Eddie’s room because of his various concerns. He wasn’t trying to be a pain in the ass, but he refused to let anything go wrong. Eddie has a hole in chest because of Richie. 

Richie would talk to him--they all would. Ben told Eddie that he and Bev were an item now, a phrase the man couldn’t say without a large smile growing on his stupidly handsome face.  
  
Richie was happy for them--But he was also sick with jealousy. A bitter part of him thought about how happy endings really were reserved for straight people only, but honestly, that's not fair of Richie. He knows Ben and Bev have had their struggles-- Beverely more than anyone--and he really was happy for them to finally find each other. It really just comes down to Richie wishing he had what they had.  
  
Richie found himself letting secrets slip in his emotional state.  
  
Ben was talking to Eddie about Bev--the plans they were making to start their new lives together as Ben carefully held Eddie’s hand. Richie had been listening quietly while Ben went into detail of the house he wants to build for the two of them when Ben paused.  
  
“Richie? W...What’s wrong?”  
  
Richie sucked in a breath, pulling his cracked glasses off and rubbing his eyes. Ben was quickly at his side, strong arm around Richie’s shoulders and if Richie’s heart wasn’t being held by Eddie so strongly Richie would risk everything for moment to fondle Ben’s stupid biceps. Richie shook his head when Ben pushed for him to speak.  
  
“Don’t shut down Richie, please,” Ben said, brows knitted together in concern. “He’ll be okay, I know it may not seem it but--”  
  
“That’s not--” Richie wheezed, his hand gripping his own chest, wanting to rip his heart out so he can have a moment of peace. “I just--You and Bev are so...so fucking lucky man.”  
  
Ben was quiet for a moment, seemingly unsure how to take that, but would keep rubbing Richie’s arms in support. It proved to be too much for Richie, who pushed his hands off of him and fled the room, feeling his heart cracking in his chest. Ben did not let him go far, however, and stopped Richie, pulling him by the elbow.  
  
“Richie--Please, don’t--”  
  
“It’s fine--I’m fine--” Richie breathed, rubbing his eyes. “Seriously, Ben, you don’t have to--”  
  
“No, I do have to.” Ben said firmly. “I know this is hard for you Richie, but I don't want you to feel like you can’t talk to us…”  
  
Richie took a deep breath, leaning against the wall outside of Eddie’s room. Richie’s never been an emotional person, usually opting to cover his feelings up with comedy, but these days he was having a harder time keeping his shit together. Richie looked at Ben, who had nothing but soft concern in his eyes. It was easy to see why Bev fell in love.  
  
“It’s just--you and Bev, man...You’re so lucky. You know? You’re so good together and--and I’m so fucking happy for you both.” Richie said, rubbing his face as his shoulders slumped with heaviness. “I just wish--things could have been different and I...I could have something like that. I don’t know, fuck, this whole thing’s got me a mess.”  
  
“No, no, I get it.” Ben said sincerely. “This whole thing has made us all start to reevaluate our lives. You’ll find that love, Richie, I know you will--”  
  
“I already did,” Richie blurted out, wanting to melt into the floor. “I just...I can’t have it.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Richie looked at Ben above his glasses, tired and hoping Ben didn’t need it spelled out for him as he looked from Ben to Eddie, still lying motionless on the bed inside his room. A moment of eye contact and Ben looking back at Eddie’s room seemed to be enough for him to put two and two together, thank fuck. Richie closed his eyes, feeling his hand’s shake, so he shoved them in his pockets. This is the closest Richie has ever come to saying it outloud, and he still couldn’t manage it, not really.  
  
He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but he shouldn’t have been surprised when Ben pulled him into his strong, firm arms and held him against his chest that you could cut glass on. Ritchie wasn’t sure how to react, at first, before letting himself lean into it, hugging Ben back.  
  
Ben never commented on Richie’s sort of kind of confession, of which Richie was grateful for. But there was an air of understanding now, whenever Ben attempted to comfort his friend. Richie bounced between relief and regret of sort of kind of letting his secret slip, but as far as he could tell, Ben never said anything to the others, which Richie was pleased by.

While Richie dealt with his emotions flaring up at any given moment, Eddie was going in and out of surgeries to work on his chest, which seemed to have gone well, though there were still no signs of Eddie stirring from his sleep. Richie tried to listen to the doctors and nurses when they explained the logistics of this hospital horror show, but despite Richie’s history of being a good student, his brain was having too hard of a time understanding the trauma Eddie’s body was going through. Maybe that was for the best, he thought, because if he did understand he may be inclined to feel more hopeless than he already did, try as he might.  
  
A month passed and Eddie was still unconscious.  
  
And Richie was still at his side.  
  
The others were too, of course, but they were going back and forth now. Bill needed to rush back home to his wife to handle things there--apparently he’s been making a movie and didn’t tell anyone, the jackass-- while Beverly needed to make a trip back home briefly to work on her divoirce. Ben and Mike stayed in Maine, with Ben handling his business remotely, not unlike how he usually did before.  
  
Richie hasn’t spoken to his manager in over a month and had no plans for checking his messages. Call him a drama queen, and maybe he is, but Richie wasn’t sure he could go back to yucking it up on stage if he knows Eddie isn’t around to roll his eyes and yell at him.  
  
He remembered a brief moment they shared in between the all killer clown bullshit. Eddie was still in one piece, no hole in his chest or cheek as they shared a drink in Richie’s room at the inn they all stayed at. Eddie was sitting in the chair that was paired with the desk in his room while Richie sat on the floor by his feet, nursing on his second beer as he harassed Eddie from the ground. Eddie always reacted just as Richie wanted, and after twenty seven years of being without him, he was still prickly, foul mouthed and filling Richie with delight.  
  
“Stop tugging at my leg, you fucking pest.” Eddie snapped at him with little actual venom, which only made Richie tug harder. He put his beer down and grabbed Eddie’s ankle before he started to really pull, grinning wide when Eddie started shouting as his ass slipped out of the chair, hitting the ground with a thud.  
  
“Fuck! You dickwad-- Are you trying to fucking kill me!?”  
  
“How would you die from that?”  
  
“I’m almost forty, Richie! The likelihood of your random bullshit killing me goes up every year.”  
  
“Right, yeah. _My_ bullshit. You remember we’re in town to kill an evil clown, right?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie scowled, grabbing Richie’s beer that was half full, taking a swing. He made a face, shoving the beer back in Richie’s hand with a grimace.  
  
“God after all these years, your taste in booze is still abhorrent.”  
  
“It is not,” Richie protested, setting his abhorrent beer aside. “I like booze for the alcohol, you like all those sugary bullshit drinks.”  
  
“Sorry if I don’t want to throw up while I drink. And I’ll have you know those ‘sugary bullshit drinks’ have more alcohol than any of your old man drinks do.”  
  
“It’s baffling you even like those drinks, honestly.” Richie commented, adjusting his glasses with an easy smile, unable and frankly, unwilling to take his eyes off of Eddie. “Seeing how unhealthy they are--Not to mention you were super unwilling to touch any alcohol when we were growing up.”  
  
“Well yeah, it was illegal--and besides, the shit you idiots drank barely constituted as good drinks. Most of them made you sick--what was that one….Oh! Remember when Bill managed to break into his parents liquor cabinet? I think we were sixteen--”  
  
“Oh!!” Richie gasped, the memory hitting him like a train, not unlike how his childhood memories keep slapping him in the face the longer he lingered in this town. “I know exactly what you’re talking about! Holy shit, yeah, how could I forget being sick to my stomach for two days.”  
  
“You guys thought it would be a good idea to drink tequila straight from the bottle,” Eddie reminded him, grinning as he pulled his knees up to lean against them.  
  
Not their brightest moment, Richie is inclined to admit. Eddie was the only one who didn’t try it, having spent his energy ranting and raving on how what they were doing was _super fucking illegal guys_ and _did you know that drinking before you’re twenty one will prevent your brain from growing_ . Richie isn’t even sure where Eddie got that from.  
  
“I remember Stan almost sat the whole thing out.” Richie said, looking past Eddie into his memory of the hot summer before school was over, seeing several teens piled into Bill's bedroom, hunched over the bottle of tequila.  
  
“Yeah, until you verbally abused him enough to make him give in.”  
  
“Oh come on, you can’t make Stan do _anything_ he doesn’t already want to do.”  
  
Or rather, didn’t...past tense and all…. Richie shook his head.  
  
“I still can’t drink tequila,” Richie said. “I can’t believe we really thought that would be good. I remember Mike tried to fix it by adding it to his gatorade and that made it worse.”  
  
“Yeah, no shit it made it worse--He fucking _puked_ on my _shoes_ because of it.” Richie laughed out a gasp, remembering Mike, green and swaying as he stunned a ranting Eddie into a cold shock with his bile. Richie had managed to move faster then he should have, seeing how tipsy he felt, and was quick to pull Eddie to the bathroom to clean him up before the kid had a literal heart attack. He recalls Eddie sitting on the toilet, looking green himself as he gasped into his inhaler while Richie, who had knelt in front of him, scrubbed his shoes with dedication in hopes that Eddie wouldn’t lose his mind. He still did, of course, but ya know. The things you do for love.  
  
“Man, we’re idiots.” Richie chuckled. “Can’t believe so much has changed since then. Like you!”  
  
“What about me?” Eddie demanded, already on the defensive.  
  
“Unclench. I just mean--Like drinking! Like I said, you were always a stickler about that kind of shit. It’s weird watching you down shots like you did in the restaurant.” Eddie rolled his eyes at him.  
  
“I’m an adult, dipshit, it’s not that weird that I drink _now_ .”  
  
“I know that, I just mean… It just sucks that I missed your first big drink. Well, I’m mostly bummed that I didn't get to see you act like a jackass.” Richie grinned.  
  
“Oh fuck off, I don’t act like a jackass when I’m drunk.” Eddie kicked at him. “And how about you, huh?”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“You’ve changed.”  
  
“How so? Is it because I only got hotter as I got older--”

“You don’t write your own jokes.” The words came tumbling out of Eddie so fast that Richie had no choice but to suspect that Eddie had been chewing on them since he came into town. “The fuck is that about?”  
  
Richie shrugged, picking up his beer to take a swing, only to frown when it was empty. With a sigh, Richie tossed it aside.  
  
“Nothin’ about it. Why? Don’t like the jokes?”  
  
“They fucking suck.” Eddie said easily. “You’re way funnier than the shit you spew on stage.” 

“Oh ya wound me, Spageddie.” Richie threw himself backwards on the ground, grabbing at his chest with mock pain. “Right in the heart!”  
  
Richie heard a scooting sound and next thing he knew, Eddie was sitting right beside him, looking down at him with his deeply furrowed brows and wearing a look that told Richie he wasn’t going to talk his way out of this conversation. Richie rolled his eyes and sighed.  
  
“I used to write my own shit.” Richie admitted. “After high school I went to college in LA and spent a lot of my free time getting little gigs at comedy clubs. I did pretty well--That's how I got discovered. A lot of my super early work is all me--But my agent and manager told me I should change up my work, so.”  
  
“Why?” Eddie asked, his large doe-like eyes staring down at Richie, right into his soul. Richie shifted under his gaze, feeling weirdly exposed in a way he hasn't felt since he was a kid. Probably because only Eddie could make him feel so seen. 

“They just...They felt like my own jokes were too….too weird. They didn’t think they’d work with a more mainstream audience.” Richie knew the implication of the criticism and wasn’t ready then--or even now--to fight against it. It was easier to relent, and it made him money, so who was he to argue.  
  
“Too weird?” Eddie raised a brow, confusion clear on his adorable face. “What does that even mean? That’s a load of crap, your own stuff isn’t too weird.”  
  
“It’s always nice to meet a fan.” Richie grinned lazily at him, grabbing the sleeve of Eddie’s jacket, unable to resist for a moment at the urge to just touch him. Richie hasn’t a clue how he’s managed to go all these years without touching Eddie. “So wait--does this mean you’ve seen my shows? Are you a Trashmouth fan, Kaspbrak?!”  
  
Eddie rolled his eyes so hard Richie worried they might pop right out, but he didn’t hide the smile growing on his face.  
  
“No, I haven’t seen your shows.” He said. “My wife doesn't like your work--for good reason, it sucks-- I’ve heard your stand up played in the background usually, and I’ve heard you on the radio before. I’m surprised I didn’t realize who you were, honestly…”  
  
Eddie almost looked guilty, so Richie pushed down the urge to joke about his wife. He tugged at Eddie’s sleeve again, bringing his attention back to Richie.  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” he told him. “This--shitty clown bullshit fucked us all up. You know I saw Bill’s books in the store, like--a thousand times and I never put two and two together? I also never bought them, but that stays between us.”  
  
Eddie snorted, covering his mouth as he laughed.  
  
“Honestly, me either.” Eddie admitted, still crackling. Richie could listen to his laugh for ages--Eddie always had a weird complex about his laugh. He said he felt like it was too loud, too much--probably a criticism from his mother or some bullshit--so Richie always liked getting a good laugh out of Eddie, liked seeing his eyes crinkle in delight, or the tense attempt of repressing a grin when Richie tells a bad joke that Eddie thinks is really stupid but can’t help but laugh anyway. None of the jokes Richie told in his career were funny to Eddie, and in that moment, Richie wondered what the fucking point was if he couldn’t even get Eddie to laugh?  
  
Richie wants to make Eddie laugh again.  
  
He wants that chance again.  
  
“When you wake up,” Richie muttered, his mind and body coming back to the cold, fluorescent room, where his hand held onto Eddie’s unmoving one tightly. “I’ll write my own jokes again. They’ll be so fucking funny Eds, you’ll snort and cough and laugh way too loud--I dont care if no one else thinks they’re funny. I’ll do it for you.”

\--  
  
A few more days went by and Richie felt like he was losing his goddamn mind.

Everyone kept telling him to be patient, to have faith, to wait it out. So Richie did all of that. He did everything everyone told him to do and it felt like nothing was changing. The longer Eddie laid in that hospital bed the worse Richie felt about his chances of survival. If it weren’t for his fellow losers Richie would have probably gone insane already, but Richie felt like he was getting closer to that point. Eddie was healing--faster than the doctors expected, which was good but very odd. Mike had a theory that it had to do with all the weird shit that goes on in town, and honestly, Richie didn’t have the patients to worry about crazy magic bullshit that the town and It affects, so he decided to just be thankful he was healing, however weird it may be. Richie was struggling to keep it together, because if Eddie was healing, why the fuck wasn’t he waking up?  
  
Bill had taken it upon himself to start dragging Richie out of the hospital, stating in that way that Bill does, all self assured and firm, that keeping himself stuck in the hospital was not good for him and that he needed a break. He left no room for arguments even though Richie had at least five good reasons to stay, one including zombie priests, but Bill wasn’t having it.  
  
So Richie let Bill have his way for an hour or two, forcing him to walk around town, breath in air that wasn’t laced with hand sanitizer and get some of that sweet vitamin D. If he was out, Richie would have made a joke about how it was the only D he had gotten in a while, but he wasn’t out, so he didn’t.  
  
He knew the goal was to try and help Richie take his mind off of things, get him a little distracted so he could start to feel grounded again. It was a nice gesture, but it was easier said than done. While the warm kiss of the sun and the cool breeze of the fresh air was a nice change of pace, Richie’s mind couldn’t stop buzzing with his worries.  
  
“He’s tough,” Bill told him on one of their daily walks. “He w-was always treated like he was b-breakable, but he never really was.”  
  
At the very least, Bill was damn right about that. 

\--  
  
He was reluctant to admit that the walks helped calm Richie down because when has Richie ever made anything easy for anyone, even himself. He never wandered too far for too long, and always came right back to Eddie, telling him about it. Anything from how the weather was that day to the weird shit he finds in the street that he knows Eddie would hate hearing about. He remembered when they were teenagers and Eddie went on a near thirty minute rant about how litter was going to kill the planet, all because Richie flicked a half done cigarette in the street. Part of him hoped he could enrage Eddie to a point of waking up.  
  
A few days later on a slow Tuesday night, about an hour and a half before the nurses prepared to kick Richie out, he sat alone in Eddie’s room. Bill and Ben had a meeting they needed to attend online for work while Mike and Bev went to have some dinner, leaving Richie alone. This was fine--he didn't mind being alone with Eddie, but this night he felt like he was breaking. Richie had snuck some travel size bottles of booze in his pockets and had been taking quick shots when there was no one around, so he was feeling extra weepy and chatty. The despair he felt when watching Eddie lay there in bed swelled up like a red balloon in his chest and before he knew it, Richie had forsaken his glasses, rubbing his wet eyes as the tears endlessly flowed. How the fuck was he able to keep crying? How could he still have this much water in his fucking body?  
  
“God, you’d probably make fun of me, if you could see me like this…” Richie breathed. “I look like such a cry baby loser. You know I--I can’t even remember the last time I cried this much...I think the last time I got a little teary was at that fucking….the dog movie--’Marly and Me’--Because the dog dies and why do they keep fucking making movies about dead dogs, dude? What's the fucking point? Anyway, I just mean that even that didn't wreck me this hard.”  
  
Richie gave an ugly sniff, rubbing his nose on his sleeve.  
  
“I guess that just shows how fucking important you were--are-- _are_ to me.” He breathed out, closing his eyes, hoping that would stop the tears. “I never really told you--not honestly, how important you are to me. I always made jokes and shit and...It’s just hard for me, ya know? I think you do know. You knew me better than anyone, after all. It’s like I’m allergic to sentimentalism. But seeing you like this...I worry that I really won’t ever have the chance to tell you--And I know that's like, selfish as shit. I mean--you’re the one who almost died and I’m sitting here all--’oh what about me?’ It’s bullshit, I know, but I can’t help it.”  
  
Richie grabbed Eddie’s limp hand gently, stroking it.  
  
“Maybe I should just say it…” Richie muttered under his breath. “I may not ever get a chance...and if you wake up, you’d probably never remember anyway.”  
  
He’s never said it out loud before. The closest Richie has ever come to admitting his feelings in any real way was when he was a kid, pocket knife in his hand. Richie swallowed down his swelling nerves, placing a gentle kiss to Eddie’s knuckles.  
  
“I love you,” Richie said, voice barely above a whisper. “I love you...Fuck--It’s weird saying it out loud.” Richie gave a shaky laugh.  
  
“I never told you--not even as a friend and--honestly, I should probably start telling the others that I actually love them too but--you’re different. You’re _special_ , you always have been. I _love you_ \--Fuck I love you so much I could--fucking _explode_ man.” Richie said, louder now, though not so loud anyone could overhear. It was crazy. Eddie wasn’t even awake and Richie felt like someone shot him up with adrenaline, leaving his heart pounding and his hands shaking. It was a rush, admitting this after so long.  
  
“I love everything about you,” Richie blabbered on, now that the seal was broken. “I love how short you are and I love how fucking mad you get and how the little shit can set you off. I love how--despite that, you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met? You just care _so much_ about _everything_ and I love that you do. I love… I love your eyes and--your _hands_ and--I love _you_ \--”  
  
Richie paused in his frantic rambles. He opened his eyes, blurry with tears, distorting his already god awful vision. He couldn’t see but--  
  
He felt something. Something move--in his hand--  
  
Eddie’s hand was moving.  
  
Suddenly, Richie’s heart dropped past his stomach, falling out of his body and through the ground.  
  
“.....Eds?” Richie breathed, eyes wide and voice a horse whisper. He strained his ears and--  
  
“Richie…” He heard Eddie speak, voice like gravel. “W...What are you…?”  
  
Frantically, Richie slapped his hands against the bed, accidentally hitting Eddie as he fumbled for his glasses, nearly taking his eye out as he shoved them back on his face. He stood and stared, wondering if Richie was asleep--if he died or--  
  
No. As he stared, all he saw was Eddie. Eddie, who was staring right back at him with those eyes he loved so much, rimmed with dark circles and a deep stubble from his stay at the hospital. Eddie, who was still pale, stilled bandaged, but was alive--  
  
“Holy shit--Holy _shit--_ ” Richie gasped. “Y-You’re awake--You’re awake oh my fucking _god_ Eddie--”  
  
Richie stumbled over himself--struggling to let go of Eddie’s hand while yelling for Bill, Bev, someone, only to recall that none of the losers were currently at the hospital, so he settled for shouting for the nurses from Eddie’s bedside. He rubbed his eyes, eager to get rid of the tears that still blurred his vision. Richie looked at Eddie, his heart racing as he squeezed his hand.  
  
“You’re okay buddy--You’re awake and you’re alive and--we beat It!” Richie said in a rushed breath, as if he was scared Eddie may go back into his coma. “We beat It and it was all because of you, man!”  
  
Eddie looked dazed and tired, his eyes shifting slowly from Richie to the room. He glanced at his chest for a moment, his free hand tiredly touching it before blinking back up at Richie. He stared for a moment, licking his dry lips, before trying to speak, only to find his voice was too horse. Richie acted fast, grabbing a cup of water he got to keep himself from getting sloppy drunk and helped Eddie sip it. Eddie licked his lips again afterwards, looking less uncomfortable with his mouth as he spoke.  
  
“...You….You love me…?”  
  
Richie felt his body freeze and before he could respond, the nurses finally found their way in, pushing Richie aside.


	2. Chapter 2

The losers were quick to return to the hospital.    
  
Bev and Mike were the first, apparently already on their way back to the hospital to pick up Richie after their dinner. Bill was next, having just left in the middle of his zoom meeting without turning off his laptop. Ben arrived soon after Bev called him, all of them frantic and worried and excited to see Eddie awake. They were all so happy.    
  
Richie didn’t tell them he threw up after the nurses kicked him out of the room to examine Eddie. He did tell the poor janitor that  _ someone _ puked in the hall closet though. 

Eddie heard him. He heard his--god awful, weepy, long buried gay ass confession of  _ love _ .   
  
Richie was so fucking happy tthat Eddie was awake--He was happy enough to cry, and maybe he already did, whos to say--but he was down right horrified that he heard him say all of that.   
  
They were things that he has never allowed himself to speak aloud before in his entire life, and the one time he decides to do it, Eddie joins the conversation. Richie has only a small bit of hope that maybe Eddie didn’t fully understand what was going on and would just forget about it, but that dream went out the window when Richie was in the hospital room again, this time with the losers, who were all crowding around the hospital bed while Richie stood near the door. When he entered, Eddie looked at him, and Richie isn't sure how to explain it, but he knew Eddie remembered. He could see it in his eyes, in the way his mouth pressed together as he watched him and in the way his hands wrung his blanket in that nervous way he sometimes does. Richie looked away from him, pretending to clean dirt off his glasses as he felt his heart crack in a different sort of way then it had been breaking. 

Eddie wasn’t going to love him--He knew that--He  _ knew _ that. So this shouldn’t be such a shock to him--and it wasn’t. It was fine. He was just happy that Eddie was okay. That was enough for him, really, to have Eddie be alive.   
  
It just hurt, having his fears confirmed. But it was okay, because Eddie was okay.

“Boys, boys, stop crowding him.” Bev laughed as Bill, Mike and Ben seemed to be fighting over who got to do things for their beridden friend. It was currently over who was going to help him drink some water. “You can take turns. You have to make up for all the times Richie stayed and took care of him, after all.”    
  
“Oh yeah,” Mike laughed, his hand carefully rubbing Eddie’s arm. “There was not a moment Richie wasn’t here, Eddie. He made sure the doctors and nurses took good care of you.”   
  
“P-Pretty sure it annoyed them.” Bill chuckled as Ben took the chance to help Eddie drink his water. “But you got the b-best treatment because of it.”    
  
“No kidding..?” Eddie said, his voice still rough from his long slumber. Richie could feel Eddie’s gaze on him, burning through his chest as Richie decided to fuss with the flowers across the room. He realized they were waiting for him to acknowledge the comment.   
  
“Uh--Yeah,” Richie said, moving the flowers within the vase all around, effectively destroying the artistry the florist created. “I mean, you kind of have to. Not like we’re in a big city hospital. I’m not sure Derry is used to treating people with massive holes in their bodies--well, except for--”   
  
“Thank you, Richie.” Bev interrupted him before he could even attempt to take it too far. Honestly, thank God, because Richie for once in his life didn’t feel like talking. Richie risked a glance at Eddie when he heard him faintly talking to Bill. He still looked rough, which was to be expected, but he already had a lot more color back in his face, and while his voice was still recovering, he seemed to have the energy to talk. Richie was glad…    
  
As he watched him, Eddie’s dark eyes found their way to Richie’s, locking onto him and stopping Richie’s heart for a split second or three.    
  
With some force, he tore his gaze away and announced he was going to the bathroom.    
  
Richie left the room before anyone could comment on his declaration, his long legs carrying him out quickly. He walked and walked until he made it out of the hospital, nearly sprinting to his car. Richie threw himself in and made a quick trip to the inn, packing his bag as fast as he could, as if someone was going to stop him at any moment. It wasn’t long until Richie was speeding down the highway, exiting Derry as fast as he could, leaving a trail of dust behind him.    
  
\--

It didn’t occur to him that his memories might fade if he left town. It was something he probably should have considered before leaving, but as it turns out, he remembered everything. This time, memories of his life were not going to fade away so easily. That was both good and bad, for the obvious reasons. It meant he wasn’t going to have a good night's sleep for a long time, with It taking to his dreams in many forms, and replaying the scene of Eddie being impaled over and over again, every night, blood covering Richie’s vision--    
  
Speaking of Eddie.    
  
He was still in Derry. All the losers were, and as far as he knew, they were pissed at him. When he found himself back in LA, Richie had turned his phone on and found a ton of missed calls and texts from them, all messages ranging in varying tones of upset and confusion. It was warranted, he knew that much. He did fuck off without a word. When he made it back to his house in Beverly Hills, he felt cold. Not in a way that filled him with fear, but a way that made him feel disconnected. His home was just like how he left it before leaving, only now with a thin layer of dust over his belongings and probably a fridge filled with expired foods, and yet he felt like he was standing in a stranger's home. It wasn't as if the things in his home weren’t things he didn’t like anymore, they just didn't seem as important as they did before. Not after what he’s been through.    
  
He dropped his bags at the front of his door before throwing his body on his couch. Taking his phone out, Richie decided it was time to face the music before pussying out and calling the one of his friends that he knew was less likely to yell at him.   
  
“Richie, what the hell are you doing?” Ben said when he picked up the phone, voice low and exasperated. “Do you know how worried everyone has been? What is going on? Where are you?”   
  
“I can explain? Maybe?” Richie offered, wincing as he rubbed his forehead. “I just got overwhelmed. I’m back in California, by the way.”   
  
“Calif--” Ben paused. Richie heard some shifting before Ben spoke again, voice lower, like he was trying to keep quiet.    
  
“You need to talk to me, man.” He insisted. “What happened…? You spent all this time glued to Eddie’s side, and now you  _ leave-- _ ”   
  
“I--” Richie started, closing his eyes tightly. “...I fucked up. I did something really stupid and I can’t…. I couldn't stay there after it happened. I thought I was going to break, so I just ran.”   
  
Ben was silent for a moment. Richie could picture his stupidly handsome face clearly, his handsome brows furrowed in concern.    
  
“....I know you don't like to talk about it,” Ben said slowly, like he was worried he’d set Richie off. “But...does this have something to do with what you told me…? About Eddie?”   
  
Richie made a sound that could be interpreted as a confirmation. Ben let out a breath of air.   
  
“Look...I don’t know what happened, but you have to know that no matter what, Eddie would never treat you differently. He cares about you, Rich. And I think you not being here has hurt him.”   
  
Richie felt a sharp stab of guilt. He realizes Ben probably didn't mean to make him feel guilty, but man, talk about hitting the mark.    
  
“I just needed space, man.” Thousands of miles of space. “A lot has happened and...Like I said, I was overwhelmed. Just tell Eddie that I needed to deal with work shit and that's why I had to leave so fast. And maybe tell the others that too.”   
  
“I’m not going to tell your lies for you.” Ben said sternly. “But I will tell Eddie, if only to make him feel better.”   
  
Richie grumbled a reply. He wasn’t trying to make Eddie feel bad--but maybe he’ll feel better if he chews on his work story. Eddie always valued work so maybe he’ll buy it.    
  
The others didn’t, naturally. He got yelled at by Bev and Bill not long after his phone call with Ben, and while Mike didn’t yell at him, he used a voice Richie called ‘The Disappointed Parent’ voice, which was objectively worse than the yelling. They were less easy to satisfy with answers because they didn’t know what Ben figured out, but there wasn’t much to be done. Richie was already in California, and all they could do was ask him to come back when he was ready, and promised to give updates on how Eddie was doing.   
  
Richie waffled around his home for a couple of days in a state of limbo until his nervous energy got the best of him and he decided to get rid of all the dust that had taken residents in his house. He wasn’t eager to tackle the unfortunate smell that was coming from his fridge, so he decided to finally respond to his agents' calls with a text saying he was ‘back in town lol’. His agent was less than pleased with his update.    
  
He was even less pleased when Richie told him he wasn’t going to use a ghostwriter for his jokes anymore.   
  
“Are you fucking serious? You haven’t written a joke in years!”    
  
Richie let him run his mouth for a while before reminding him that he worked for Richie, so if he didn’t like it, he could find another job. His tune changed pretty fast after that, and suddenly he was the most supportive agent in the world, and didn't even care that Richie had gone off the grid for months. Richie wasn’t usually so aggressive with his agent but now was not the time for arguments. He made a promise to himself that when Eddie woke up, he’d write his own jokes again--jokes that would actually make him laugh--And by God he was going to make good on that promise. Even if Eddie didn’t know he made it--God, the guy couldn’t have woken up then, could he?

\--   
  
Richie didn’t have plans to return to Derry. He had moments of weaknesses while back home, overcome with the earth shattering desire to check on Eddie and see how he was doing, especially after spending so much time taking care of him, but pulled himself back in by reminding him what he did. Richie couldn’t stop thinking about it, worrying about it. Did Eddie tell the others what he heard? Probably not, they would have said something, surely. However, the fact remains. Eddie knew and Richie was a coward, unwilling to face him for fear of what Eddie may say.   
  
He might hate him--that's always a possibility.    
  
(It’s Eddie, though, and it didn’t feel realistic.)   
  
He might get awkward and push him away.   
  
(After everything they’ve been through, would he really do that?)   
  
He’ll reject him…   
  
(...)   
  
The more time passed, though, the more the moments of weaknesses became regular occurrences. Richie’s anxiety was constantly at level one hundred, and even with the reassurance of his friends that Eddie was healing up just fine, he felt like he could vomit with how worried he was. It was definitely a side effect of having been glued to his side at the hospital, and maybe even more so due to the trauma he endured back in Derry. He was a mess, torn between buying another plane ticket back to Maine or planting his cowardly feet firmly in California.    
  
As it turned out, Richie didn’t have to make a choice.    
  
One night, about a week after his escape, Richie found himself looking up from his laptop at a knocking at his door. He gave a pleased sigh, happy for an excuse to put away his blank google doc he had been obsessing over as a distraction and an effort to write new material for his work. He grabbed his tip money he prepared for the Chinese delivery guy and opened the door, only to have the air in his lungs leave his body.   
  
Richie wondered if this was a hallucination. He found that if he was too tired or too under the influence or too  _ anything _ he started to see things sometimes. He threw up in his garage the other day when his mind convinced him that Bowers was dead on his floor after he glanced at an old axe he had hidden away. Maybe this was one of those times.   
  
He got the sense that it wasn’t, though, because Eddie’s anger was radiating off of his short body too much for it to be an illusion.    
  
Richie opened his mouth in an attempt to formulate words, but Eddie beat him to the punch.   
  
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?!”   
  
Yeah, okay, he should have expected this much.    
  
“Wh--What are you doing here?” Richie managed to sputter. “You--You shouldn’t be up..! Why aren’t you at the hospital?”   
  
“Don’t try to change the subject,” Eddie snapped. “Are you going to let me in? I’m sweating my ass off out here. It’s six in the evening and it’s stupid hot.”   
  
Richie opened the door and stepped aside, letting Eddie stomp his way into his house. He checked outside briefly to see if anyone else was around, to no avail. Richie closed the door and looked at Eddie. He only had a small backpack hanging on his shoulder loosely, and the clothes were the same ones he had back in Derry, just clean this time around. He looked more alive than ever, even with the bandage on his cheek and the bits of bandage he could see peeking under his shirt where the collar ended. His hair wasn’t as neat as he usually kept it, looking more frazzled from his trip and the good ol’ California heat. Richie watched Eddie drop his backpack on the ground before turning on him, eyes on fire.    
  
“You have one chance to explain yourself,” Eddie snapped. Richie took a deep breath, shoulders tense. He started to speak, but it turns out Eddie wasn’t ready for him.   
  
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that Toizer?!” He exclaimed, walking away from Richie, seemingly looking around Richie’s home. Richie followed him quickly, even though his voice carried. Eddie had a slight limp to his walk which made Richie nervous.

“You know--I’m told that you stayed at my side the entire time I was knocked out--By everyone! Our friends, the staff at the hospital-- _ everyone _ told me how worried you were about me. But the  _ fucking _ second I wake up, you fuck off without even a good bye! Or a proper excuse! ‘I had to deal with work’--What a load of crap!” Eddie carried on as if he didn’t have a hole in his chest. Richie was, on one hand, delighted at the amount of energy Eddie had in him, the amount of life. On the other hand, he was fucking terrifyed he was going to strain himself, especially because he seemed to be getting madder as he went on.    
  
“You didn’t even want to talk to me on the damn phone! You’re such an asshole, I can’t believe you--” Eddie snapped, finding his way to the couch, carefully lowering himself down. There was a pause before Eddie looked at Richie, glaring at him.   
  
“What the  _ fuck _ is that smell?”    
  
Richie blinked stupidly.   
  
“....Oh--Oh, its uh--My fridge, probably.”    
  
“Why does your fridge smell like that?”   
  
“I think a bunch of stuff went bad while I was away and I haven’t found the bravery in me to clean it out.” Richie has kept the windows open in his house since he got back.    
  
“You’ve been back an entire week and you’ve just let it stink like this?” Eddie asked, disgust clear on his face.    
  
“Hey, I’m dealing with a lot of shit right now..!”   
  
“Oh, I’m  _ sure _ you are.” Eddie rolled his eyes, scoffing.    
  
“Eds,  _ what _ are you doing here?” Richie asked, taking off his glasses to rub his face. “You shouldn’t be here! You only just woke up, you should be at the hospital. How the hell did you even get here?”   
  
“No.” Eddie said in defiance.    
  
“ _ No _ ?”   
  
“ _ No _ .” He repeated before pointing an accusing finger at Richie, who stood there dumbfounded. “You do not get to suddenly ask about my condition and act worried--not after you left. So I’m not answering any of your stupid questions right now.”   
  
He was being unreasonable, Richie thought, but he had the feeling that it may be on purpose. Eddie seemed genuinely upset at his act of cowardice, and honestly, who was Richie to blame him.    
  
The Chinese food came soon after Eddie. He was lucky he ordered more food then he needed, because Eddie helped himself to some of his wonton soup and egg rolls. Richie picked at his food, watching Eddie devour the soup.   
  
“Hungry?” He inquired.   
  
“I’ve been starving ever since I woke up.” Eddie said, covering his mouth as he swallowed the food. “It’s like my body is trying to play catch up. Once I was able to start eating solid foods I’ve just been stuffing my face.”   
  
Richie nodded as he listened, stabbing his mongolian beef with his fork.   
  
“So am I allowed to ask you what the fuck yet?” Richie asked, shoving a fork full of beef in his mouth. Eddie finished off an egg roll thoughtfully.    
  
“Depends.” he said. “Are you going to explain why you left?”   
  
“I  _ told _ you--”   


“I’m not going to listen to you lie.” Eddie frowned at him. “So don’t bother.”   
  
Richie signed, setting his plate down and leaned back in his chair, hugging the throw pillow he bought on a whim years ago. They were eating in the living room with the TV on, because Richie didn’t want to make Eddie get up from the couch. A sitcom Richie recognized from the nineties was playing with the sound on low. He nudged his plate of half eaten meat towards Eddie as fake studio laughter sounded from the television.   
  
“You can have the rest, I’m not hungry.”   
  
Eddie gratefully took it. Damn, he wasn’t kidding about his appetite.    
  
As Eddie picked through the food, he surprised Richie by starting to speak.   
  
“I don’t really understand it myself,” he said. “Anyone else wouldn't have survived this kind of wound. But for some reason, it’s healing faster than anyone expected. Mike seems to think it has something to do with It… Kind of like the power It had over the town? So he thinks that's probably why I’ve been recovering so quickly. I don't know, it's just a theory, but it's the only one I’ve got. The doctors in Derry are useless as shit.”   
  
No kidding.   
  
“So...you’re okay..?” Richie asked carefully, unsure if asking would get an egg roll thrown at him.   
  
“I think so.” Eddie answered instead. “I feel less awful every day. I’m still taking it easy, of course, but once I was able to stand and walk on my own, I took off. And unlike you, I left a note at least.”   
  
“Why the hell did you leave? You didn’t tell the others?” Richie gawked, suddenly overcome with the desire to check his phone.    
  
“I  _ told you _ , I left a note.” Eddie huffed at him, as if that solved the problem. Richie can only imagine the panic the gang felt upon returning to find an empty hospital room with a note explaining that Eddie’s fucking off to California to kill Richie himself. He’ll have to call them soon and let them know he’s not bleeding out in a ditch.    
  
“Anyway, I left because you left. That should be obvious.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t hard to figure out where you live, either. Did you know you have your address on the internet? That's dangerous, you should get it taken down.”   
  
“I fought a demonic clown, I think I’m good.”   
  
“Shut up, I’m serious.” Eddie frowned at him. “I came here because I want to know what the hell you’re thinking, leaving like that.”   
  
Richie squeezed his pillow against his chest, feeling nauseous as the television mocked him with more studio laughter. He picked up the remote and turned it off in retribution. Richie sighed, attempting to breath out his anxieties, although it didn’t work.   
  
“...I think you know why I left, Eds.” Richie settled on saying, his voice low as his hands grasped the pillow tightly. He stole a glance at Eddie, who paused as he ate. He set the plate down, his expression focused as Eddie listened. Richie could tell he knew exactly what he was talking about and continued.    
  
“And if I’m bein’ honest… I’d rather just forget the whole thing. I was just...really upset and--”   
  
“Forget about it?” Eddie cut him off, sitting up quickly. He winced after he did it, touching his chest gently. Richie sat up as well, reflexively wanting to check on him, but Eddie went on. “What do you mean  _ forget _ about it?”   
  
Richie started at him, brows furrowed in confusion.   
  
“I mean  _ forget about it _ \--Not think about it? Not worry about it?” Richie explained, incredulously.    
  
“What--So that's it?” Eddie demanded, like Richie has said something unreasonable and he was about to file a formal complaint with nonexistent management. “We’re just supposed to forget about it and--what, never talk about it again? Pretend it never happened?”   
  
“...Ideally, yeah, that was the plan. Are you mad?” Richie asked, confused by his reaction. He would have thought Eddie would have been perfectly happy to not have to think about his messy and ill-timed confession.    
  
“Yes, I’m mad!” Eddie exclaimed, his eyes wide, looking almost insulted by the idea. “You seriously just expect me to forget about it and--act like it never happened?! Don’t I get a say in this!?”   
  
“A-A  _ say _ ?!” Richie would sputter. “W--What is there to even  _ say _ , dude?! It's not a big deal--”   
  
“Not a big deal!?” Eddie’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out with how wide they were, his face getting heated with growing anger.   
  
“Okay am I missing something? Because you’re starting to sound like a parrot.” Richie shook his head, tossing the pillow aside.    
  
“You’re just--making all the decisions!” Eddie sputtered, his words coming out fast like a bullet train. “That's such bullshit, dude-- I don't even get a chance to  _ respond _ and then you leave and suddenly you’re just--’Oh just forget about it’ like it didn’t even  _ matter _ !? Fuck you! We’re not forgetting it, that's not your call to make!”    
  
Eddie was aggressively pointing at him again and Richie’s head was spinning. He had absolutely no idea how to take all of that. So, instead, he said; “I don't sound like that.”    
  
“That's exactly what you sound like!” Eddie snapped. “Like a big, stupid asshole!”   
  
“Dude, I have no idea what you want me to say.” Richie told him, eyes wide as he stared at Eddie, utterly dumbfounded by this reaction. His fingertips were pressed to his temples as he tried to understand.    
  
“I  _ want-- _ ” Eddie placed his hands together, pressing them to his lips and sucked in a breath, as if trying to collect himself. “I don't want you to say anything. But you told me something... _ really _ important. And you’ve been trying to take away my chance to respond and--it's not just about you Rich! I deserve a say because it involves me! Did you know all I’ve thought about since waking up was how I nearly died and how I’ve lived my life up to this point? And how...How my whole life I’ve never had any real say in what I do or don't do-- With my mom, my wife, my job--and I’m sick of it! This is my chance to do shit  _ my _ way. I’m not letting anyone take that from me again. That includes you, so you’re just going to have to deal with that.”   
  
Richie swallowed hard. He couldn’t exactly argue against what he was saying. Richie did, in fact, leave the state to avoid hearing what Eddie had to say about his confession. He just didn’t expect Eddie to take it so personally--didn’t expect him to actually  _ want _ to respond? He doesn't know how to take that. But Eddie was stubborn. The guy flew across the country with a still healing chest wound just to yell at him about it. Richie should have known he couldn’t escape the consequences of his actions, especially if it was coming from Eddie. Besides, getting yelled at by Eddie was only fun if Richie was actually fucking with him.    
  
He didn’t realize Eddie had so many regrets about his life. He was glad for him wanting to take control of his destiny. All Richie wanted for Eddie was for him to be happy and do what he wants without so much stress and worry. Sucks that it took being impaled by a clown for the message to finally hit him, but different strokes for different folks as they say.    
  
With a sigh, he nodded slowly.   
  
“Okay. You’re right.” He admitted. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about this. So--Yeah, hit me with it man. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.” Richie isn’t a kid anymore. It might hurt, but Eddie’s feelings matter just as much as his own. Time to put on his big boy pants.   
  
“...” Eddie looked at him, the fiery determination he just had slowly easing out of his body. He glanced down at the plate of mongolian beef that Richie gave him, picking at it with the fork. “Well…. I haven’t decided yet.”   
  
“....” Richie stared at him for a moment. “...What the  _ fuck _ do you mean you  _ haven’t decided _ ?”    
  
“I  _ mean _ I’m still…. I’m still thinking about it.” Eddie huffed, almost embarrassed.    
  
“...Are you fucking kidding me!?” Richie’s voice nearly cracked with his disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about?! What about everything you just said!?”   
  
“Hey!” Eddie exclaimed quickly. “I’m not about to rush my response! I want to--consider it carefully! And--You know what, I don't have to explain myself! You left! Which means you forgo any rights to bitch about how I do this!”    
  
“You’re  _ unbelievable _ .”    
  
“Deal with it, Trashmouth. I plan on taking my time too, so you have no one to blame but yourself.”    
  
Eddie was lucky Richie loved him, because if he didn’t he would have kicked his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These guys are a mess amiright

**Author's Note:**

> boom baby


End file.
